Divergence
by TaylorGibbs
Summary: Mac awakens in chained, as a prisoner to some unknown entity. Will Danny and Don be able to save him? Mac/Danny/Don pairing. Brief Mac/Claire. Paranormal and hurt/comfort.
1. Part I

Part 1

Awareness

Chapter One

Present Day

Mac Taylor opened his eyes slowly and looked around the room. It was a Spartan, cinder block room with institutional looking walls, gray on gray. It was nothing like his bedroom, which was all dark wood, warm and inviting. He pulled on his arms and legs experimentally, knowing he was shackled even before he started the process. Testing the heavy bonds slowly, he took stock of his surroundings.

He was on little more than a concrete block that had been covered with a thin mattress mattress. His arms and legs were stretched out to all four corners, arms secured above his head, legs secured somewhere by the ankles, either to some sort of a footboard or maybe even to eyebolts sunk into the ground. The chains had little play in them and the shackles were thick bands of an unyielding metal, clamped tight around his limbs. And he realized with a start that he was completely naked, not so much as a sheet covered him.

His chest burned where he'd been hit with the shrapnel in the Beirut bombing in '83, and his arms and legs ached from their cramped position. For some reason, he had a dull ache that ran mid-back through his body and to his sternum, as if he'd been punched and badly bruised. Due to the way he was stretched out, his back had been forced into a slight arch, which strained the muscles of his abdomen on both front and back. That wasn't helping the ache one bit.

What the hell was going on here? Was this related to a case? Had he been taken hostage in some criminals' desperate bid to get his own way? What was the situation and how could he free himself? The cuffs seemed to be solid metal, thick, binding him but not cutting of circulation. There was no sign of breakage or openings he could take advantage of. He could barely twitch his arms, the bindings were that tight, Mac's skin bruised and sweat or blood slick under them. The leg shackles were the same, tight, unbreakable.

Mac willed himself to calm down, and took stock of the rest of his surroundings. Mattress thin, uncomfortably lumpy and uneven. Probably a camping mattress. Concrete underneath. It wasn't the most uncomfortable sleeping accommodation he'd been in, but it definitely ranked in the top five.

The room was dim, but Mac had the sense that it was still daytime, some internal sense—maybe his own internal clock—making him vaguely aware of the passage of time. As he considered the situation, he realized that he couldn't have been here very long.

What was the last thing he remembered?

He closed his eyes, calming his heartbeat further, deepening his breathing, going within as only a trained Marine could. He'd used this technique when he'd been healing as a young Lieutenant a lifetime ago. Regulating his breathing, forcing his heartbeat to slow, shoving the panic away. He had to be clear headed or he'd never figure this out.

Mac started sifting through memories. He'd gone for a drink after work. Danny and Flack had been there as well. They'd discussed a game and Mac had called it an early night. He was just relaxed enough to consider the thought of sleeping a full night, which was still a rarity. He hadn't slept will since Claire was alive, but something about the night, the beer, the good food, had taken the edge off his anxiousness.

He'd opted to walk the twenty-three blocks home rather than taking a cab. Mac had been feeling himself getting a little softer, a little slower, his reactions not as sharp as usual. With the hours they'd all been putting in and the takeout food, he was getting too soft for his own good. Even his daily swimming routine, starting at oh six hundred, had suffered from his schedule. He rarely jogged any more. The least he could do was walk.

_Focus… Focus, Mac! _

He had to focus. He didn't know why his thoughts were all over the place. He usually had much better concentration than this.

Mac had started out at a brisk walk, dodging tourists like a pro. After all his years in New York, it was much more his home than even Chicago had been. He hadn't known what to expect when moving here after leaving the Corps, but he and New York had a mutual love affair, and even seeing the worst in its people hadn't dampened that.

A couple of blocks had passed before he'd realized he'd been almost race walking, cutting around people on automatic pilot. Mac had chuckled and slowed down, ducking into a store for a bottled water. It had been then that everything had changed. As he'd been paying, hands had gone around his neck, squeezing harshly. He'd flipped the assailant over the counter, using body weight as momentum but then something had happened….

He was forgetting something significant. _What_ had happened??

Mac strained for all the details…

"_Just the water," he told the clerk, a young teenager who was studying something that looked like Chemistry, the thick book balanced on the counter beside her. He handed over two dollars and took his change, noting that her eyes had widened. Just as he reached for his weapon, strong hands curved around his throat, crushing his windpipe. She screamed and scrambled out of the way, hands held out in a defenseless motion._

_Mac reacted just as his training indicated, flipping the assailant over the counter where he crashed in a heap and lay still. In one motion, Mac pulled out his badge and gun. "NYPD, Freeze! Call 911," he ordered the wide-eyed girl. He started to turn, not liking the idea that he was keeping his back to the room when he heard three shots and molten fire ripped into his back._

_He opened his mouth to yell, to rage, to something, but he no longer had the capacity to draw air. He felt so damned cold and wet, blood coursing over the floor under him. He'd blinked, looking up at his assailant before darkness veiled his vision and he knew no more._

That wasn't how it had happened. That couldn't be how it had happened! If so, there was no way Mac would be here now. Alive. He was definitely alive! He pulled in greedy gulps of air, aware that his heart was racing, strangely comforted by that fact. Breathing meant he was alive and that meant what he remembered had to be a nightmare.

Mac hadn't slept well since losing Claire. First, it had been the nightmare of 9/11, the crazy working hours. Then, it had been the pain of loss. When he had finally allowed himself to calm down and face what had happened to him personally, he'd taken Claire's death hard. Harder than he'd expected. They'd had a good marriage, even though they had some struggles. Like most things, it hadn't been perfect, even though their bond had been rock solid.

They'd had infertility problems, he'd worried that she was working herself into an early grave. He chuckled, the sound rusty and ironic in the cinder-block room. He would be forever defined by 9/11 and what he'd remembered had happened. He still wondered if it was a dream or nightmare all these years later.

Chapter Two

Evening of September 11, 2001

Mac curled up on his office couch and closed his eyes, holding her favorite sweater, breathing in her scent. "Claire, honey, I don't know where you are or even if you are any more. After today, I'm afraid to even hope. They dragged me back here to the office, forced me to shower. They want me to stay here for a couple of hours before I go back and look for you. And I will. I'm going to look for you until I hear that you're safe or at a hospital somewhere."

He pulled another shuddery breath in. "Claire, you have to be okay. I can't make it without you. But I'm so worried. Your floors were wiped out and there haven't been any messages. It's a nightmare at the towers, sweetheart. I hope…" He choked off what he was going to say.

"You'd tell me to have hope. Some day, this is just going to be a nightmare that we look back on as a bad dream. Together. Claire, you have to have made it out. Right now, Stella is faxing your picture to all the hospitals, even the ones in Jersey. You might have walked over with some of your co-workers, though you know it's safe at home. Or here. You could always come here. You know that."

She did. That was why he felt so damn lost, his dread rising by the moment. He pulled out his cell phone, dialing his voice mail. Nothing. No messages. Could he get his home answering machine messages remotely? Exhaustion had dulled his senses, but when he concentrated, he remembered the pass codes and dialed their home number with hands that felt clumsy.

"Hi, this is the Taylors. We don't know who you are if you don't leave a message, so do it!" Claire's voice was so perky and so damn cute. Mac mechanically entered the pass codes.

"Seventeen new messages. Playing number seventeen," the mechanical voice informed him.

Claire's parents had called four times, a couple of his Marine buddies, Claire's brother over in South Africa, a couple of guys Mac performed with sometimes.

"Playing number two."

"Mac! Oh God, Mac! I can't get you on your cell!" Claire's frantic voice came through. "The fire is getting worse. I can't get down so I'm going up. You guys will have choppers on the roof, right? Please, Mac. I don't want to die. I'm too young, we have too much life ahead of us. And the baby…. God, Mac, I'm so scared!" She sobbed for a minute or two, until voices rose in panic and she gasped.

"Mac, I have to go! I have so much I need to say to you and so little time. Mac, I love you so much. You've been my hero and my world. If I don't get out, please tell me parents and Brad and Mike that I love them. Oh Mac, you're the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you so much. Goodbye, honey. Goodbye, sweetheart. Thank you for loving me. Every day has been so special. Carry me in your heart and I'll always stay with you. I love you, baby. 'Til...the day I die. And beyond…" She sniffled once and then disconnected the call.

Mac tried to hang on, to listen to the next message but he couldn't hear it over his wracking sobs. She knew! She knew that they weren't going to be able to get copters on the roof. She knew the smoke was too dense, she was a realist, she_ knew_.

And he knew. She was gone. Nobody had made it off the roof. "Claire," Mac moaned, a primal sound of agony and loss. He held the sweater even tighter and rocked back and forth, wishing he could hold her one last time.

"Don't cry Mac. I never wanted that." Claire didn't know how she had gotten back to where Mac was, but his sobs had drawn her in. She didn't remember much about dying, but she was pretty sure she didn't need those memories; it was bad enough she remembered the last few minutes of her life. Trying to call Mac and her parents to say goodbye. It would always stay with her. But she was getting a second chance, to offer solace to the husband she left behind.

"I know this is hard, but I don't want you to be miserable. You need to live for the both of us, Mac. Do the things that we always planned. I'll always be here with you."

Mac stood, walking to his desk, feeling so much older. He had to tell her parents and her brothers. How the hell could he do this? "Claire…" It was stupid to talk to her, as if she could hear him.

"Go ahead Mac, you can do this. I know it's hard. But it's not your fault. You need to let them know."

He dialed her parents and put the phone on speaker, both hands clenching the sweater to his face. Stella had closed the blinds so that he'd have some privacy and everyone had been warned to stay away.

They answered right away, Grace's voice making it clear that they knew, with her agonized 'hello'.

"It's Mac," he said quietly. He couldn't bear to call his mother-in-law any of the affectionate named they'd shared.

"Mac, let me get Bill. And Mike."

He waited, holding that little bit of Claire as her father and younger brother joined her mother, and Grace put her own phone on speaker.

"Are you all right, Mac? Were you there?" Bill Conrad, always a rock, sounded destroyed, yet a thread of concern ran through his voice. They'd adopted Mac, taken him into their family as if he'd always been there.

"I'm okay. That's not why I called. Claire…"

"Did you talk to her? She called us, Mac." Mike was openly sobbing. A single child, Mac considered Mike and Brad his brothers.

"No, Mikey. I just heard…she left a message. Oh God. I'm so sorry I didn't protect her, save her. I'm so damn sorry."

"You're positive she's gone?" Grace's voice held a little hope.

"Mom, she worked on the ninety-third floor. There wasn't a way out. The stairwells were blocked. They could only go up. I wish…I wish to hell we didn't have to have this conversation. But I don't see any way she could have survived it."

"Mac, she knew. I could hear it in her voice. A father knows…"

"Yeah…" There was so much more to say but Mac couldn't bear it. He tried so hard to remain strong for his in-laws, but within seconds they were all grieving together, pained sounds of loss.

Finally, Bill spoke. "You're alone up there, Mac. We'll drive up. Help..."

"Help what, Dad?" Mike burst in. "Help collect the teeth and bone fragments? She got pulverized!"

Grace let out a small sound and Bill swore softly. All Mac could do was listen as Claire's family—and his only relatives—shattered. No words were spoken for a few more minutes as Bill soothed his wife.

One last deep shuddering breath and his father in law spoke again. "We'll be up soon, Mac. You shouldn't be alone. And it'll help us to be close to where she lived."

"Bill, the city is virtually closed down and…"

"And our place is with you, son," Grace finished.

"Not mine," Mike's voice was angry. "Mac, you were a Marine and you're a cop. Why didn't your people stop it. You goddamn soldiers who can't even protect our own country and people!"

"Michael Conrad! That was uncalled for. Apologize!"

"Like hell I will, Dad. Mac was supposed to protect my sister and she's dead because of him. The great fucking Mac Taylor. You had to live in New York City. You couldn't move to Philly like Claire wanted to, or back to Chicago. You killed my sister and I hate you for it."

With a clatter the call disconnected and Mac redialed. Grace picked up immediately. "Mac, honey, we're sorry. We don't believe that. Bill is with Mike now. We're going to try to get up there tomorrow. Brad is flying in from South Africa to Montreal and he'll drive down and meet us there. Will you be okay until then?"

"He's right, you know," Mac replied quietly. "Be safe. You have a key to the place, so let yourself in."

"You're not going home, are you?"

"I don't think so. I can't face it, Mom."

She whispered a goodbye and hung up. Mac didn't know how long he stood there, stroking the sweater, but when he looked up, Stella was hovering at the door, her expression tense.

"Any news?" She stepped into his office and locked the door behind her, crossing to him and taking his hands in hers. Stella had been so worried about Mac, but she had no idea how to reach him. Though they'd been friends for a long time, they'd never gone through anything like this.

Stella could only watch as Mac angrily wrenched his hands back, smoothing them over the sweater, appearing to soothe himself with the stroking motions on the cashmere. "She's gone, Stell. She's gone. I failed her and she's gone."

"You couldn't do anything Mac." Stella knew deep down inside that Claire was dead, even without any evidence . If Claire had been in the office, the likelihood of her making it out was slim to impossible, and if she had made it out, Mac would have had news

"Are you sure?" she asked gently.

In response, Mac picked up the phone and dialed numbers, punching each one angrily. Stella listened, silent as each message played through and when Claire's frantic tone rang through the room, she knew there was no doubt.

Mindful of the protective way Mac was with the sweater, Stella stroked the back of his neck. "I'm so sorry…" She paused for a few minutes until the harsh sound of Mac's breathing overwhelmed her.

"Mac, even if you had tried, you know you wouldn't have made it. She wouldn't have wanted that."

Claire was in complete agony. Going through it had been bad enough, but her husband's realization of her death was heart wrenching in a different way, one that broke her a thousand times over.. She couldn't take any more. Claire crossed the room, resting her hand on Stella's, wishing she could touch her husband and their friend as well.

"Stella, you need to take care of him. He's going to need you. Make sure he knows I love him and that I don't want to see him for a long time. His place is here, his city needs him." Even though Claire knew that Mac and Stella couldn't hear her, speaking the words was easing her mind a little bit.

Mac took in a shuddering breath, Claire's perfume tickling his nose. For a second he could have almost sworn he had heard the whisper of her voice, as impossible as it was. He looked at Stella, who was standing at his shoulder. "I could have comforted her. I didn't even get to talk to her, to be there for her, Stella. She needed me so badly this morning, and…now. She's gone. She had to say goodbye on our answering machine." He choked out a sob. "I didn't get to say goodbye, to tell her how much I love her."

He sank into his desk chair, Stella standing close but not talking or touching him any more. She seemed to know that he needed to talk and that he needed a little bit of distance. "We got so busy we took each other for granted. Did I even kiss her this morning? Tell her I loved her? Did she know down in her soul what she means to me? When did we take time for one another last? It's all gone, Stella. Dust and ruin. I can't touch her again. And when she needed me the most, she had to say goodbye to the answering machine."

He wrapped that sweater in his hand, his free hand stroking a picture of Claire that sat on his desk. "She's so beautiful. I always thought she had settled for me. She could have had a lawyer, a doctor, a financial whiz kid. Instead, she chose me."

"She loves you, Mac," Stella said quietly and Mac winced at the present tense of her words. "She will always love you." Stella's hand scrubbed over her face and she smeared her tears and eye makeup. "We just need to find a way."

"I can't live without her," Mac said in a destroyed voice.

Claire was pacing now, trying to bleed off energy physics dictated she shouldn't have. Even though he couldn't hear or see her, she lectured him."Mac Taylor, stop speaking like that. You will live and you will thrive. I need you to…we need you to." She ran a hand over her stomach, choking back a sob.

Chapter Three

Present Day

Mac blinked rapidly, shaking his head. No, that wasn't how it had happened! Claire hadn't been there in spirit or in ghost form or whatever that was. Why was he remembering it all wrong? Did he have a head injury? Had he been drugged?

Mac hated being at this disadvantage. He was tied up in a way that he couldn't lunge or strike out at his captors. And that didn't explain why he was having these strange dreams. He wouldn't term them memories. They were impossibilities. He tried to follow the evidence but there was none to follow.

He closed his eyes, intending to conserve strength.

September 11, 2002

Mac hadn't expected to go down to Ground Zero; had, in fact, planned to stay far away, but at twenty-three hundred he found himself buying a rose from a street vendor and hopping in a cab. The fanfare and posturing was all over and it wasn't as if he'd be able to sleep anyway.

Stella had offered to go down with him, but he'd brushed her off, telling her he had no intention of going. And that had been the case until twenty minutes ago. He'd been in their apartment, fielding calls from Grace, Bill, Brad, and Michael, who were worried about him. They'd maintained close contact over the year, Mike even coming up to stay with him for a few weeks.

But it was just too damned hard. He could see Claire in Mike's eyes, the way his mouth hitched up in a smile. Brad had Claire's nose, her quick sarcastic wit. Sometimes Grace sounded just like her and Bill had Claire's sense of humor. Mac limited his contact to a couple of calls a month, though he'd spent that first hard Thanksgiving and Christmas with them. He intended to work through the holidays this year.

They all said that time heals the wounds, but Mac wasn't finding that. A year later he missed Claire more every day, sometimes the pain bringing him to his knees emotionally. Maybe some day the grief would be less acute, but he didn't feel that right now.

He'd been sitting in their apartment, sipping a glass of her favorite white wine, her favorite curry still spicing the apartment even though he'd eaten it hours ago, when he realized that he needed to go to the place that had taken her life and face it.

For someone who worked all over the city, Mac had done a remarkable job of avoiding the deep gash in the earth. The fires and constant dust had faded, leaving just emptiness behind. Every time he drove near it, he mentally closed his eyes, refusing to see the place where his wife had died.

A year had gone by and Mac had no answers, no stories of what might have happened, no remains to bury. The answering machine message had been saved and burned to DVD, but that was the only clue he had about her last moments on earth.

"Hey, Pal. We're here." Mac's head snapped up and he nodded at the cabbie, handing over some money. "Don't want it," the guy said softly, motioning to Mac's badge and the flower in his hand. "Thanks for protecting the city, Pal."

Mac gave the cabbie a faint smile and nodded, getting out and walking over to Trinity Church. Now that he was here, he was certain this was a very bad idea. He wasn't prepared to really look at his wife's grave.

Mac stared for long moments, tears seeping out despite his best efforts to keep them in check. He couldn't help the emotion rushing out. She'd meant the world to him. She'd meant everything.

Claire had known Macwould finally find his way here and she approached when his tears started flowing. She and their child had taken shifts, watching over him for much of the last year, especially the nights when despair seemed to crush him.

Even though Claire knew she shouldn't keep trying to communicate with him, on this sad anniversary, she had to reach out. "Oh, Mac," Claire whispered, stroking his hair and wishing she could actually be felt or heard. She had to settle for a gentle touch that she hoped he was aware of, somewhere deep in his subconscious. They'd always had a way about them, where communication wasn't necessary, where their bond hadn't needed words to strengthen it. It just was.

Mac turned to face her and Claire's heart leaped, she thought for a moment that he saw her, that he could communicate with her on this level. But his extraordinary green eyes just looked through her as he stared out into the city they'd both adopted as their home, the city that had thrummed in their very veins for so many years.

"I love you," she whispered as he walked away, his brokenness showing in the way his shoulders were rounded and he plodded forward, every step seeming to leech the spirit from her husband. She hated that he had become this heartbroken shell of a man, sleeping only in short snatches. She hated that he seemed to have lost his soul. He now existed only for work.

"Mac, you need to find some way to live. You need to search for that. I'll help you. I'll always be by your side, even if you can't see or touch me."

Present Day

Mac's eyes slammed open again and he shook his head. That wasn't what had happened. He'd been there alone! He couldn't have seen the events through Claire's eyes as well. Memories didn't go that way. Dreams and hallucinations did. Claire's visit was a figment of his imagination, a drug-induced hallucination. His rational mind began running through what cocktail they might have given him to force these hallucinations.

"Mac, it's real. Just let it happen. You'll be okay."

He could swear he heard the whisper of her voice, not deep in his memories, but here, right now.

"No," he growled, straining against the cuffs. He felt skin tear and the sharp tang of something on the air. Blood. He was bleeding! Pain…pain would keep him focused. It would have to do.

He licked his lips, mouth suddenly watering though he had no idea why. His body was tingling, over sensitized, pain and pleasure receptors colliding. He pulled in a breath and on it was that metallic tang that he suddenly hungered for.

What the hell was going on??

Knowing it wasn't the smart thing to do and giving head to his panic for the first time in a long time, Mac tugged and yanked at the restraints, growling out curses to his captors. He only lasted about ten minutes before he collapsed, exhausted, dispirited, and very worried about what his fate might be.

Even though he was aware that his hallucinations were probably someone's amusement, he began speaking. "What the hell is going on here, Claire? Why won't they tell me what is going on?" He knew torture and forced interrogation techniques meant that the victim was left off balance, but he was surprised to find that it had happened to him so easy easily. So much for all his training.

And what was he doing, talking to a hallucination? He had to refocus here, to go within himself and re-center. It was the only way to regain some control.

October 23, 2003, twenty years after the Beirut bombings

Iwo Jima Memorial

Arlington, VA

The right thing to do had been to take the day off work. Mac was known as a workaholic, but everyone had seemed to understand, once they realized what the date meant to him, that he had almost died in the Marine barracks bombing twenty years ago. Many of his friends hadn't been as lucky as he was. Many of them were buried at Arlington and other veteran and civilian cemeteries.

Mac had thrown an overnight bag in his car and made the drive to DC. Some of his men had rented a block of rooms at the Key Bridge Marriott and he'd been invited to stay with them. He'd be back in New York tomorrow, but for today, this was the right thing to do.

He checked in and met Tim Green, Vince O'Malley, Frank Junello, Warren Tucker. Mac hadn't seen these guys for many years, not since they'd all broken off when they'd retired from the Corps, most right after Desert Storm. Frank was in private security in LA now, Tim ran a commercial fishing company in Florida. Warren was a state senator from Michigan, and Vince…he was "between jobs". The bombing had taken the most emotional toll on Vince and Mac knew he hadn't held a steady job for a few years.

It was nice seeing the guys, but it just served to remind Mac who wasn't there. Two hundred and twenty Marines had died that day and an additional twenty-one men from other services had perished as well. All four of the men Mac was visiting with had served on sentry duty. Some others hadn't come back. Stan…Harry…Zane.

They'd made a solemn procession to Arlington, joining others who had the same idea, who were visiting their buddies' graves on this day. Only a few of the men were buried here at Arlington, but it was symbolic, a meeting place, just like Lejeune and the Iwo Jima Memorial would be later in the day. Those places symbolized the Marine spirit. Mac made his way over to the Lebanese cedar and memorial stone, breathing in deeply, remembering the sounds and sights of that day.

Claire walked slowly toward her husband who stood stroking the memorial. She hadn't know him then, having met him after he'd retired from active duty service in the early nineties. But she knew that scar on his chest, knew how every October he'd become withdrawn, even more than usual. He'd been barely out of Annapolis at the time, a boy all of a sudden become a man on one horrific day.

She leaned in, touching his arm. "Oh, Mac. I almost lost you then. Such irony, huh?" Claire's arms wound around him and she rested her head on his shoulder. The fact that she'd been lost in a terrorist action wasn't lost on her.

She wished he could feel her, muttering when he didn't react to the way her hands rested on the back of his neck, the way her mouth brushed over his cheek.

Later that night when he stood with his friends at the base of the Iwo Jima memorial, arms linked, silent tears steaming down his face, Claire felt angry. She just wanted to go to him and was prevented from the simple luxury of him feeling her touch. Sure, she could feel the warmth of his skin under the palm of her hand, but he couldn't gain any comfort from her touch.

"Dammit, why does this feel like hell?" she asked, closing her eyes against her own pain.

Present Day

Mac forced his eyes open, breathing in deeply. The air had sharpened now and he was slightly disoriented. How long had he been in this state? Doubt started to creep into his mind. Was this some sort of lack of sleep state? Had it all caught up with him? His doctor had prescribed sleep aids but Mac hated using them. They always left him feeling exhausted the next day and he needed to be sharp and on his game.

But it was possible that the seven and a half years of bad sleep, of fractured dreams, and complete mental exhaustion, had worn his psyche down. It wasn't likely but he had to examine all possibilities. It was more reasonable than seeing memories from Claire's eyes and point of view.

His stomach growled and Mac shifted. He wasn't aware of how much time had passed, time was a foreign concept to him here. Maybe it was best. He catalogued his body again. Sore, cramped, wrists still slick. But his body was shaking slightly and he felt almost…revitalized. There was latent energy in his body, thrumming through him. Mac shifted restlessly, running his tongue over his mouth, muscles bunching and relaxing.

"Let it happen, Mac." The soft voice reached his ears and he whipped his head around, looking for it.

"Don't fight it, Mac," she said again. He knew that voice. It _was_ Claire!

"Claire? How? What's happening?" he asked, panic starting to rise despite his Marine training.

"Stay calm, Mac. You have to stay calm, or this will be much harder on you."

"What will be?" he asked, rattling the chains now, panic rising. That was the last thing he knew before darkness descended.


	2. Part II

Part II

Realization

Chapter Four

Mac's eyes opened again and he looked around, taking stock of things. Still bound, still on the uncomfortable mattress. But the room was bathed in light now and he had non-ghostly visitors.

"Flack? Danny? What's going on here?"

Both men looked rough, stubble shadowing their cheeks, clothes a little wrinkled, Danny's white T-shirt was stained and Flack's dress shirt was rumpled. Their eyes were sunken and they looked exhausted and looked as if they were leaning on each other. Neither was bound or restrained in any way.

"Hey, you're awake. How ya feelin', Mac?" Danny asked, coming closer. "Donnie, he's awake now. Showtime."

"Showtime?" Mac echoed, confused. "Danny, what the hell is going on here?"

"Hey, Mac," Don Flack said in a reasonable tone of voice. "You okay?"

"Flack, what the hell is going on here?" Mac rattled his chains. "Can either of you get me out of here?"

"No can do, Mac," Danny said, looking regretful. "It's for your own safety."

"Safety?" Mac looked from one man to the other. "What do you mean?"

Flack came closer and got down on one knee. "You remember what happened last night? We went out for a beer and then you went home."

So, it wasn't a dream? Mac wondered, watching the men.

"Yeah," he replied slowly.

"Then you went into a store and got a water. Someone was robbing the store and you um…"

"You were shot. Pow! Pow! Pow! Three right in the back!"

"Danny! Have a little sensitivity. The man died."

"Died?" Mac put in. Was that why he was seeing Claire? "But you and Danny…" He trailed off, rattling the chains.

"Died," Don said, crystal blue eyes swimming with sympathy. "Danny and I rushed to the scene but you were too far gone. All we could do was…" He caught himself and looked over at Danny. "You sure he's ready for this?"

"Positive," Danny affirmed, coming closer as well.

"All we could do was change you, Mac. You'd almost bled out. Your heart rate was slowing." Don pointed to Danny's wrist, where a small indentation was the only indication it had been marred. "I bit in right there and pressed his wrist to your mouth. Fed you his blood. Changed you."

"Into one of us," Danny added.

"Into one of you?" Mac repeated, looking from one man to the other in shock. "What does that mean?"

Flack opened his mouth, flashing lethally sharp teeth--fangs. "Mac, I know it doesn't make sense to you. Might never. But Danny and I, we're vampires."

"And you're chained up because until you're at full strength and completely transformed, you're a danger to yourself and us. You're gonna hunger so bad for blood you could kill us without a second thought. And would. These next few hours are gonna be real rough for you. Your body is changing, awareness opening up. You're seeing and feeling things you haven't ever before."

"Claire?" Mac asked. It was a plea

"Claire?" Flack asked, but Mac ignored him. His attention was on that voice and presence.

"Right here," her voice, a little ethereal, came from somewhere behind Don and Danny.

"Is it true?" he asked, directing his question at her. She sighed, expelling air he wasn't sure she even had in her lungs. If she had lungs. The scientific implications of all of this were making his head spin.

"It's true, Mac," she said quietly.

"It's true, Mac," Danny echoed, though there was no indication either man was aware of Claire's presence. "Right now, I'm gonna give ya a little blood, just a sip. The room is being monitored. We'll know when you need more, when your body has finished the transformation. You might dream, you might see people from your past. I dunno how it might work for you. Been a while for me and I was changed gradually." Danny flashed his own set of sharp teeth and Mac fixated on his mouth.

"But when you come out of it, you're gonna need a lot of things. Feeding, sex…among other things."

"Sex?" Mac asked, distracted by Danny's mouth. He squirmed restlessly, his body aching.

"Yeah, sex. Even now you're getting hard. Blood lust and physical lust are all tied in together. We don't have any women around but you…I know you and Danny…once or twice…" Flack actually blushed at that.

"Yeah," Mac said roughly. "And you and Danny, now?"

Flack shrugged but nodded. "Doesn't matter. What you need, you need. Danny and I have been there. We understand."

Danny sighed, rolling his eyes. "Can we save all this for later? Mac needs to eat a little and then rest up." His eyes slid down Mac's body and he grinned. "Though he looks like he's healing really well to me."

Flack nodded, propping Mac's head up a little. "Know you don't want to do this but you have to. It'll help get you stronger. Trust me, it'll get a lot worse if you don't."

Even though Mac was completely opposed to the idea, he found his mouth opening as Danny brought his wrist closer. "Just bite right down, Mac. It'll be okay. You'll see. It'll really be okay, Mac."

Danny's wrist rested a few inches away from his mouth and Mac sucked in a deep breath, smelling warmth and sunshine on the other man, not the expected darkness or decay. His body twitched and Mac realized he was getting turned on, despite the circumstances.

"Danny," he whispered, groaning.

"Right here, Mac. Right here." Danny lifted his arm away, grunting as he tore into his own flesh and then brought the arm back to Mac's level. One crimson drop hovered above Mac's lips for a moment before it fell, coating his mouth.

"Go ahead. Have a taste."

Even though Mac didn't want to, his tongue darted out and he licked the liquid off his mouth. Warm, salty, not at all as he'd expected. The single drop rocketed right through him and he groaned, trying to surge up and get more.

"Okay, okay." Don supported his head as much as he could and Mac drank thirstily, groaning with the pleasure of it. After only about thirty seconds, Danny pulled away, licking the small torn area. Mac watched as it sealed itself closed.

"You're gonna feel invincible soon." Danny told him. "It's gonna drive you crazy, gonna drive you outta your head, Mac. It's why we gotta leave you chained and we gotta go. But we'll be back as soon as we can and we'll take care of whatever you need."

Mac swallowed hard, eyes wide. "Don't go."

"Gotta," Danny said and there was pure regret in his tone. "You can't go through this with us here. You have to do it alone or it won't happen."

Mac watched helplessly as they left, turning his head to the opposite wall. Already, his body was starting to shake and quiver, the blood rushing through his veins and making his body sing. He started shaking, groaning. This was pleasure in its purest form and the changes worried him. He didn't even dare talk to Claire yet. Again. He was too worried about what she might think. At least after all of this, he suspected she was more than a figment of his imagination.

If he was drinking blood and that blood was turning him on…he knew on some level this part was no dream. He couldn't explain or rationalize how he knew, but it was a certainity that ran through him, a clarity of thought, an honesty that made more sense than anything else had.

A hand ran through his short hair, the fingers cool and soothing, and Mac made a small noise of desire, want, need. Danny and Flack had said they wouldn't be back soon. Were they? He forced his eyes open but he couldn't see anyone.

"Please," he whispered, head whipping from side to side. He needed sexual satisfaction. It had been too damn long and his hand was never his favorite sex partner anyway.

Chapter Five

March 17, 2007

"I've got ya, Danny," Mac said softly, guiding the other man into the foyer of his building. Danny was way too drunk and his place was far too distant for Mac to allow him to go home on his own. It was only eleven and Danny was hammered. Mac had no idea how that had happened.

"Come on, Danny. Gonna get you upstairs to my place. You can sleep it off."

"Your place?" Danny mumbled. "But ya only got one bed, Mac. Big Mac. We sharin'?" Danny leaned in even closer and Mac shook his head.

"I'll take the couch, Danny."

"Nah. Not putting ya out. King-size bed. We can share."

Mac sighed inwardly, knowing what Danny said made absolute sense, even if it was unorthodox. He'd shared sleeping quarters with his men many times beforehand. It wasn't that big a deal.

He managed to get Danny inside and on the couch, bending down and tugging first shoes and then socks off. "How do you sleep, Danny?" When Danny looked confused, Mac tried again. "What do you wear to sleep, Danny?"

"Oh." Danny's eyes brightened in comprehension. "Nothin' usually. What 'bout you, Big Mac."

Mac shook his head, walking to the dresser and pulling out a pair of sweats. "Put these on, Dan." Danny fumbled with his jeans before he looked up to Mac and Mac found himself dropping to his knees, unbuttoning and unzipping, yanking Danny's pants, shoes, and socks off. As he pulled Danny's shirt off, his knuckles grazed the other man's stomach and Danny groaned, throwing his head back.

"Mac, you're teasin' me, man."

The thing was, he wasn't. Not intentionally anyway. He glanced down, knowing what he'd see, knowing that he'd find Danny erect. Sure enough, the other man's cock was outlined, straining against the fabric of his boxers.

"Want you," Danny whispered.

Max reared back in surprise, wondering for a moment if this was alcohol talking or if there was truth behind it. Studying Danny's expression and his eyes, which were clouded by drink but also so frankly honest, gave Mac the answer he sought.

But he couldn't act on it, for a great many reasons. He reached over and mussed Danny's hair, giving him a tight smile and pulling on the sweats. The light leaving Danny's eyes made Mac wince. Despite all Danny'd been through, he'd maintained a hopeful outlook that shone in his eyes.

Mac had to close his heart off when he tugged Danny to his feet and settled the other man in his bed, on his side. Mac couldn't bear to put Dan on what had been Claire's side. He'd sleep there, if he went to bed.

And that was a big if. He wasn't sure about this. Danny's admission changed everything between them, the realization its own sort of anguish. It couldn't be, it could never happen the way Danny wanted it. The way Mac knew Danny deserved. He was just too wounded, a big part of him still living in the past.

But as Danny burrowed into the blankets on a cool March evening and turned to Mac, reaching a hand out, he found himself stripping down to boxers and undershirt and settling in beside the younger man. It would be okay. Even if his feelings for Danny were complex, Mac was a Marine with a Marine's willpower.

He closed his eyes, knowing that sleep wouldn't come for him any time soon. He was wrong. A deep dreamless state overtook him and he sighed happily as the rare event served to pull him down into a place where darkness reigned, where he was completely at rest.

Mac awoke with the first light, groaning slightly. A warm, wet mouth was lapping at his nipple, his shirt rucked up. A strong hand was stroking over his abdomen, working its way down to his hard, leaking cock.

His eyes opened and he looked down at the head, already knowing it was Danny's, knowing it was wrong to do this. But it had been so damned long and it felt so good. Mac's internal arguments held no water at the moment, not when that warmly capable hand curled around his boxer-clad flesh.

"Dan," he whispered, hips thrusting upward as he tried for more satisfaction than he was getting currently. He wanted skin to skin contact. He wanted it all.

Danny lifted his head, grinning at Mac. His eyes looked soft and slightly unfocused, his smile dreamy. He looked so much younger than Mac and Mac almost felt as if he was a dirty old man, though he was nothing of the sort. Yes, he had about ten years on Danny, maybe even fifteen, but Danny was a fully grown and very capable man.

"Yeah, Mac?" Danny asked, mouth curving into a smile.

"More," Mac said, a gentle demand. When Danny tapped him on the stomach, he lifted up, allowing the other man to skin the boxers down his body. When they had tangled at his feet, Mac kicked them off.

He watched as Danny reared up slightly, sliding his eyes down Mac body, lingering at the ridge of scar tissue over his heart. "Beirut, right?" he asked, hand smoothing over it.

"Yeah." Mac nodded. They'd had showers in the same area at the office but male etiquette was to never look at another guy that closely and he hadn't. He assumed his colleagues had reacted the same way. Mac would have preferred if nobody knew about the injury, but word had gotten around slowly, especially after the building collapse last year. As discreet as Stella was, word still managed to slip out.

"Man, you musta almost died," Danny remarked sadly and Mac shrugged, uncomfortable with talking about that time in his life. He took Danny's hand away and moved it lower until it finally brushed his pubic hair.

Mac groaned, pressing his head back into the pillows, and Danny chuckled. "Been a while, hey, Mac?" he asked, a slight laugh in his voice. "Don't worry. Won't be long again."

Danny's hand moved again, finding Mac's hard cock and giving it a gentle squeeze, thumb smearing the pre-cum over the way too sensitive head. "Danny," Mac hissed.

"I got ya, Mac. I got ya." Danny ringed him right under the head, moist thumb now working the sensitive underside of his head, fist exerting just the right pressure to drive him crazy. The longer Danny waited to start stroking, the more Mac fought against reacting, wanting to take complete control and dominate the event. But he would hold off, patience and self control winning over his growing sexual need. And he would not give Danny the satisfaction of knowing that Mac was so easily controlled.

That thumb kept skittering over his hard flesh, tracing and then flicking lightly at the area where Mac's head met the shaft, where the vein pulsed in the underside. The pressure was incredible, he was leaking constantly now, the scent of male lust filling the air. He really ought to be focused on what Danny wanted and needed, but Mac couldn't bring himself to move, to touch Danny. All the self control in the world wasn't enough to pull him away from the first hand job he'd had in a long time.

That it was Danny Messer doing it just added to the experience.

"Danny, need more." Mac's thigh muscles were twitching now, his body straining for more contact. This male hand was so different from his and rather than being awkward, he embraced those differences.

"Like that, huh?" Danny asked. "I can get off doin' that to myself, Mac."

"Yeah?" Mac asked, curiously. He skimmed a hand over Danny's chest, but couldn't effectively worm his hand between their bodies and get a nice grasp of Danny's cock.

"You wanna feel?" Danny asked and Mac nodded, giving him a challenging measuring look. He watched as Danny reared up and then glanced to Mac's bedside table. "You got lube in there or you do it in the bathroom?"

It wouldn't have occurred to Danny that Mac didn't jack off, it was just a given, and that charmed Mac in a strange way. He reached over, opening up the drawer and pulling out a bottle, nothing fancy, no special scents or any of that, just basic glide your hand where it needed to go, stuff. Danny looked at the bottle and smirked and Mac wondered what he was thinking.

"Almost empty. Ya do this a lot?"

"What?" Mac feigned innocence. "Have a guy in my bed? Nope, that never happened before."

Danny chewed his lower lip, clearly wondering about that. "But you're okay with it?"

Mac nodded. "Not a virgin, Danny. I've…experimented." A little, but he could probably fake what he hadn't yet experienced.

"Oh…good."

"You? Not your first time here." Mac said it as a statement rather than a question. He knew Danny had some experience, had been able to read that in Danny's eyes and the way he moved with such confidence.

"Yeah, I have a friend with benefits, Mac. Not discussin' it though. Not without his okay. Not gonna ever out anyone, not even you."

Mac nodded, even though he hadn't worried about that possibility. "How about getting back to business, Danny?" He was hard, from what he could see now that Danny had shifted, Danny was at least as hard as Mac was, and they were wasting time.

"Okay. You're a top only right? You ever been a bottom?"

Considering Mac had never had full penetrative sex with a man he could answer that question easily. "Never been a bottom."

"Good." Danny's smirk this time was feral and Mac found it both endearing and sexy. "Cause I've been hoping to get that cock inside me for a long time. Man, you made my mouth water when you were sleeping."

"Oh?" Mac asked, wary of starting Danny off on another tangent.

"Yeah. You were lying there, leg cocked, boxers gaping and you were so hard Mac. I just wanted to swallow you down in one gulp. I would have too if you hadn't woken up like ya did."

"You mind that I ruined your fun?"

"Naw," Danny said, giving Mac a speculative look. "Not when I get to have my way." He swiped a bit of Mac's pre-cum and licked it off his thumb, groaning, sliding his own hand down his chest. "Damn, you taste good, Taylor."

Mac grinned and reared up, pulling Danny down for a kiss. Danny gasped against Mac's mouth as he pressed eagerly against it, cupping the younger man's cheek as he pulled Danny's lower lip into his mouth. Mac held Danny's lower lip in place in a gentle bite while his tongue swept over the flesh in long licks. Danny groaned, opening his mouth up further and Mac deepened the kiss automatically, claiming Danny's mouth with his own, tongue plunging inside.

Danny fumbled with the bottle of lube, squirting a little bit in his hand and then settling over Mac, gripping both their cocks in his hands, allowing Mac to hold him upright. The sensation of slick cock moving against slick cock was incredible, Mac had never felt anything like it beforehand. Danny was smaller than he was, but he was thick as well, and it was an amazing sensation having this hot, hard male sliding against him, the friction and pressure of Danny's hands adding to the experience.

Mac hissed out his pleasure, eyes closing, hands supporting Danny's upper arms, hips thrusting eagerly into the warm hand gloving him. "Like that do ya, Mac? Just wait until you're up me, in my tight ass. You're gonna fill me like I ain't never been filled before."

"Still waiting," Mac teased gently. He and Danny had found a rhythm that worked for them, bodies riding each other in perfect sync, in perfect harmony. This was so damn good but there was an ache deep in the base of his spine. He needed more than a hand. He needed to be inside someone warm, pliable, needy. He needed to be inside Danny Messer.

"Give it time, Mac," Danny said, laughing. He rose up, sliding away and Mac hated the cooler air rushing between them. He watched as Danny jacked his own cock slowly, hand moving over flesh in practiced strokes, slow but sure. He collapsed onto the bed beside Mac, spreading his legs and thrusting into his hand, his free hand wandering to his balls and lower. Mac propped himself up on an elbow and watched as Danny's fingers pressed against his tight hole, his index finger slowly slipping beyond the tight ring of muscle.

"Oh, God. God…Mac." He could only watch as Danny began spreading himself slowly, entering a second finger and stretching himself slowly. He jacked himself all the while. It gave Mac time to watch the play of morning light over Danny's body, brushing golden rays over his chest, highlighting the thick cock

Mac ran a hand over Danny's pectoral muscles, stroking and testing the flesh beneath his hands. Strong. Muscular. Utterly male. He began teasing the small nipples, working them to hard points with his fingertips, tweaking them, lightly pinching, making Danny moan. The other man was riding his hands, his fingers plunging inside himself.

"Mac…I'm ready. Fuck me."

Mac hesitated a second, glancing to the bedside drawer before he looked back at Danny. Danny watched him for the beat of a second before he chuckled. "Come on, Mac. You're not getting any, you think those aren't past their use by date? I'm clean, you're clean. You really wanna go to a store and get some?"

Mac chuckled, shaking his head. "You sure, Danny?"

"Yeah, I trust ya." He arched into his own hand. "God, I need ya. Don't keep me waiting, Mac."

The reedy tone, the deep need in Danny's voice, did something to Mac. He leaned in, kissing Danny tenderly and settling himself atop the other man. Reaching for the lube, Mac started to coat himself, growling happily as Danny batted his hand away, jacking him instead in twisting hand motions that made Mac groan and buck into the younger man's grasp.

"Come on, Mac. Enough with the foreplay. Let's get on to the main event." Mac grinned down at Danny, nodding. He was a little nervous, a little worried about hurting Danny, but the other man showed no worry, just complete arousal and need shining in his eyes.

"Tell me if you're uncomfortable."

"Yeah, yeah, such a gentleman. Fuck me, Mac."

Mac grinned, settling above Danny. The other man lifted his legs, jamming a pillow underneath his hips. It allowed Mac the perfect angle and he pressed against Danny's hole.

"Just like that, Big Mac," Danny said with a delighted laugh. Mac eased in slowly, moving past the thick ring of muscle and hovering there, barely inside. Danny's head was thrown back, the cords of his neck standing out clearly.

"Come on, Mac. I can take more."

"Can ya?" Mac pressed in slightly more, Danny's tight wet heat seeming to pull him deeper every second. Soon, without consciously doing it or knowing how it had happened, Mac was balls deep inside the other man, his overfull testicles resting against the curve of Danny's ass. Mac stilled there, brushing back Danny's hair, loving how soft it was against his hand.

"You doing okay?"

"Oh yeah…yeah." Danny made a quiet noise of need, wiggling under Mac. Every move was telegraphed to his hard cock and as Danny ripped around him, Mac let out a low groan.

"Feels good, huh? You like that, Big Mac?"

"Shut it with the pet names," Mac said good-naturedly. Danny clenched around him and he groaned his approval, head moving back.

"Come here," Danny said in a low passionate voice, and Mac moved closer, leaning in to kiss Danny gently. "Yeah…now start moving. Fuck me, Mac. I can take it hard as you can give it."

Mac sincerely doubted that, but he began thrusting, long movements where he pressed inward and withdrew to the tip. He kept his thrusts slow and even, not wanting to jar or jostle Danny at all. "That okay?" he asked, starting to breathe harder.

Danny nodded, shifting and then crying out. "God, Mac. Right there! Perfect!"

Mac realized that he had to be hitting Danny's prostate and he moved as deep as he could, quickening his strokes, feeling Danny starting to buck under him. "Fuck, fuck…" Danny chanted over and over again as Mac bottomed out, hitting just the right spot. The younger man's head began moving restlessly from side to side and Mac changed his approach, driving hard in small jerky thrusts, making sure he hit Danny's prostate on every motion.

"Dan, jack off," Mac said, his voice shaking from the effort of not giving in. It had been so long since he'd been inside anyone and this was both heaven and hell. As amazing as it was, he was having to work hard to not lose it before Danny'd come.

Their groans punctuated the morning silence, Danny adding little feline mewls of pleasure as Mac stroked over the spot relentlessly. He was tightening and releasing around Mac in a rhythmic manner and Mac closed his eyes, giving himself over to the sensations. Danny's breathing stuttered and he cried out, clamping down hard on Mac as he erupted on his hand and their stomachs.

That was all Mac needed. He stilled inside Danny, eyes opening, watching the other man as his climax began to build into a raging inferno. The lightning ran up and down his spine, his balls tensing and then….

Mac saw fireworks as he emptied himself into Danny's welcoming ass. Danny clenched and ripped and milked Mac's cum right out of him. He shook and groaned through a climax that stole reasonable thought from him, that stole everything but the ability to pulse, shoot, feel.

"Dan….Dan…" he whispered in wonder.

"I know, Mac. It's gonna be okay."

Chapter Six

Present Day

"Mac, Mac, it's gonna be okay."

The voice, an echo of the past, brought Mac to awareness. To burning agony, to need, to hunger.

"Dan?"

"Yeah, and Donnie's here too. Ya remember what happened?"

Mac blinked a few times, nodding. "You said I was…shot. And…" He tested his bonds again. "Let me free, Danny!"

"No can do, Big Mac. Ya gotta let the transformation happen. When it does, you'll know. You'll have all sorts of memories, and you'll know all about our kind—your kind now."

Kind?

"Kind?" Mac asked carefully.

"Yeah, the Kin. They're our band of brothers, all sorts of people like us."

"Vampires?" Mac clarified and Flack nodded. He hadn't thought he'd imagined that part but anything was possible. This was all so surreal.

"Yeah, vampires. Some of them have some other abilities as well but don't worry about all that stuff right now. It'll all make sense when you come into your own."

Flack sounded perfectly reasonable and Mac found himself giving himself a mental shake. This wasn't normal, whatever they claimed. This was…strange. Paranormal.

"There's a lotta ways to make a vampire, Mac. This is only one of 'em, and we usually don't like to do it under duress. When the person doesn't get a say in the matter, but we had to in your case. You were gonna die. You were dyin' right in front of us and we reacted without thinking too hard about it. Don't ask us to regret it. We didn't want you to die."

"And if I wanted to?" Mac asked, trying to stay calm.

"You didn't. You have a lotta life in those green eyes," Flack told him. "You have a lot of people who need you around. Us for one, two actually. You're still close with your in-laws, aren't you? And Reed…"

Mac's only answer was a jerky nod. He took stock of things, testing his physical condition. He was burning from the inside, exhausted and yet still able to concentrate, he was confused and wary, but was listening to the men.

"What's happening?"

"Danny fed you some of his blood. A lot. More than he should have." Flack gave Dan a stern look and Danny shrugged. "Twice now. I'm gonna give you some of mine soon too." He looked suddenly unsure and a little shy and Mac wondered what that meant specifically.

"And?"

"Well, when Dan gave ya a lot, it stopped you from dying and started you healing and there are all sorts of chemical changes that take place. I don't know what they all are…" Don shrugged and looked over at Danny. "It happens a lot more gently in controlled circumstances, but this wasn't one. It was just the opposite."

"Your body is healing itself and getting' stronger too, Mac. It happens over the period of a couple of days. Some people dream. Some people, it's just darkness and unconsciousness. You drift in and out. A lot of people hallucinate. Some get violent. It's why we had to chain you up. You could hurt yourself."

"Or us," Flack pointed out.

"Or us," Danny added in agreement.

"How much longer?"

Danny and Flack looked at their watches and then each other. "'Bout eighteen hours," Danny said a little uncomfortably. "It gets worse before it gets better, though, Mac. First your blood starts to burn and then you have this huge sexual desire that you can't take the edge off. Then, you…" Danny pressed his lips together.

"What?" Mac asked.

"You hunger. You get hot and hungry and needy. You need so much, Mac. It's incredible but it is the most horrible thing at the same time."

"But then when you come out the other side, you have a brand new life. You're sharper, stronger…" The two men looked at each other, smiling slightly. "It's amazing, Mac. It is incredible, the strength and the sharpness and the memory. It helps us do our jobs so much better. And we…the three of us…" Danny trailed off.

"We're going to be a hell of a team," Flack said, resting a hand on Mac's chest, stroking the skin there. "Does it hurt?"

"What?" Mac asked, his body shaking. He was over-sensitized, that hand driving him crazy even though it only rested lightly on his flesh.

"Your chest. It is healing, knitting. The scar tissue will disappear soon and you'll be as good as new, there. All over. Danny's eyesight is a perfect twenty ten now, even better than twenty twenty. We're stronger, smarter, sharper."

"And you like blood," Mac pointed out.

"Not like," Danny added. "Have to eat for nutritional purposes, but we can eat and drink other things as well. We just need a little blood to keep us stronger. The good thing is that we can share with each other. Rarely need any from anyone else. And we have blood banks for those times."

Mac tried to concentrate on Don and Danny's words, but the touch was amazing and he strained up into it. "Anyone else?" he asked before his mind blanked out and the passion centers took control.

"Not in the NYPD that we know of, anyway. But we have a lot of Kin in various industries, a lot of friends." Don stopped speaking when he realized Mac's attention had wavered. "We can talk about all of this stuff later. Just try to relax. Let it happen, the more you fight it, the harder it will be to deal with."

Don's voice was soothing and Mac relaxed into the touch. When Don placed his wrist to Mac's mouth, he drank thirstily, without any hesitation at all. The blood was starting to taste better to him, maybe it was an acquired taste. He drank hard, gulping down the warm, salty liquid, sealing his mouth to Don's wrist. It should have been awkward, it should have made his skin crawl, but instead it seemed right, and moreover, it felt right.

He felt softer, delicate hands in his hair and he tracked her even though he couldn't see her. Claire. What did this mean for them? Was he…damned? Was he cursed to never see her again? Mac was a man of science but he also had a healthy respect for his religion and faith and this twisted it all up inside.

It was this thought process that forced him to pull away slightly, shaking his head at the question in Flack's eyes.

"Had enough." He weighed what to ask, wondering how to phrase it, not knowing how to make sense of it all. "Are we dead?"

"No. We breathe. You can feel yourself breathing, right?"

Mac nodded. "What about…" Flack was a good Catholic boy, wasn't he? He didn't say the words, feeling a little trepidation at the thought.

"Do you mean Claire?" Don asked in barely more than a whisper.

Mac nodded.

"We die. We live a lot longer than the average bears, but there is an end of the line for all of us. She'll be there for you. We're not damned bloodsuckers, Mac. All that stuff is vampire lore that has no bearing on our Kin. Look, Donnie's got a buncha books. When we get you outta here, you can come back to his place, do some reading up on everything. A lot of it you'll learn when the change is complete, but our people are readers and writers and they have all sorts of books."

Mac started to open his mouth to talk, but Don shook his head. "Save the questions for later, Mac. Once my blood hits you…"

It was almost as if Flack had flipped a switch. Mac's body began shaking, the chains rattling slightly as the blood rushed through his veins. He could almost hear it whooshing through. A kaleidoscope of colors burst in front of his eyes and he made a small sound, trying to get away. His breathing seemed too loud, their scents overpowering.

"Cut the lights, guys," Flack said to some unknown presence in barely more than a whisper. Even though Mac knew that the sound was quiet, it cut right through him. "We're gonna go for now, Mac. Try to sleep through it. When you wake up, it'll be much better." Flack smoothed a hand through Mac's hair. "It'll be better, Mac."

Mac arched up into the unexpected gesture, feeling every strand of his hair moving, the extra sensation driving him crazy. Don't go, he said silently, but wouldn't dream of saying it out loud.

Chapter Seven

May, 2006

Mac remembered it all in the moment he woke, the dust and stench of cordite still strong in the air. He'd been here before, he remembered it all in stark clarity. This time was different, though. He was a civilian now. He'd been investigating a murder in an office building on a nice weekend, not a young lieutenant with his men one October morning half a world away.

His men…Flack! Where had Flack been when the bomb had gone off? In a single moment, Mac flipped through his memories, following the blood spatter, seeing the ladder, climbing up and unzipping the duffle and seeing the wires. Yelling to Flack that they needed to evacuate the building and the high-pitched whine of the fire alarm as they raced up the stairs.

Mac had thought they had the building clear, then the guy with headphones on had appeared and Flack had screamed for him to get out. But they'd been too late. Just a second or two later the bomb had exploded.

He coughed a couple of times and moved debris off him, crawling to his knees. As the building settled and more debris fell, he knew how lucky he was. His neck was stinging and bleeding, but that was minor and he knew as much. Were Flack and the other guy as lucky?

He started calling for Flack first but saw and freed the other guy first. Then he saw Flack, lying still, bloodied, and his heart clenched. Don was shaking, his mouth moving even though words weren't coming out, and Mac was caught in a place somewhere between the two bombing events in his life, flashing back and forth without any rhyme or reason.

Flack's stomach cavity was torn open and Mac felt sick at the realization of how bad off the other man was. He was _not_ going to lose another man this way. He'd been there once, never again. He would not allow it to happen again.

His mind tried to shut off as he went through the motions that no man should ever have to do, trying like hell to save his friend. With his hand inside his friend's gaping stomach, he couldn't afford to deal with emotions. He had to remain the scientist. He had to see this through.

Only when the bleeder was tied off did Mac allow himself to breathe again. The guy asked him how he'd known what to do and he replied without thinking too hard about it that he'd been there before. And he was still there in his mind, flashing back and forth, telling Don to hang on one minute and Stan the next, Don's dress shirt transforming into Stan's fatigues, the face of a NYPD detective becoming that of a young Marine, barely more than a child. Dying.

_He would not lose Flack._

"Stay with me," he repeated, even though he knew Flack was too far gone to hear. Just as Stan had been. Why he felt the need to compare them, he didn't know, but he was getting angry with himself, as if he was consigning Don to death by mental association. Don was a fighter, he'd survive. He had to live. There was no other option. Mac just had to allow himself to believe that.

When the flashlight beams brightened and he heard Danny's voice, he finally allowed himself to relax.

Seeing Don at the hospital initially had been about scientific need, for the case alone. As Mac had worked collecting evidence, he had tried to distance himself, completely failing. Mac was a strange mix of heartbroken and comforted by the still form of his friend lying there, face bruised, and scraped. They'd had their disagreements but there was a brotherhood there that nothing could tear apart.

"I'm gonna get you through this, Don," he said, his voice quiet in the sterile room.

The rest of the case was as complex as the bombing itself had been. Mac hated being used to prove someone else's point and so much of the case brought back memories for him.

It felt right to get back to the hospital and Flack as soon as he could. He was almost relieved when the others left and he was alone with Don and the machines, their steady beeping soothing him. When Don's fingers curled around Mac's he had to blink back his tears, gulping back his emotion.

"Squeeze my hand, Don," he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

Present Day

Mac awoke to someone holding his hand gently, stroking over his thumb and fingers. "Right here, Mac. Right here." Another hand, this one feminine, was in his hair. Claire. She'd often soothed him by stroking his hair and today was no exception.

"How ya feeling?" Flack asked, his voice soft and a little tender. The feminine hand pulled away and Mac swore he heard a whispered "I'll be back."

"Still need…" Mac didn't know how to verbalize it. His body was still shaking and vibrating, he hungered for something deep and unknown.

"I know. You're getting there. Only about six hours left."

Mac couldn't believe he'd been out so long, but he looked at Don and the other man nodded. "Danny's making arrangements. Calling you in sick, getting some clothes, your shaving kit."

"Where am I?"

"Kin safehouse in Staten Island. Once you're fully changed you'll be able to go home. Or to my place. Danny and I pretty much live together these days and we want you with us."

Mac arched an eyebrow in reply and Flack continued. "You and Danny have a connection and you and me, we have a bond too. Started out a long time ago but got real strong on that day."

"That day?" Mac echoed.

"Yeah. When I almost died. You kept me focused. You were incredible." Flack reached over, mussing Mac's hair. "And if you think Danny is good in bed, just you wait and see. The two of us together will rock your world." A smirk came over Flack's face and Mac was struck by just how good looking Don was.

"And I think you find me hot. At least a part of you does." Flack's hand closed lightly over Mac's cock, making him aware of how hard and aching he was. His hips thrust as much as they could into the firm grasp and he groaned deep in his throat.

"Like that, do ya? Danny told me you had a great cock, but I had no idea. You gonna top me like you topped Danny?" Don began a twisting stroke, showing Mac just how talented he was, in the world of hand jobs, anyhow.

"Don…God…"

"Yeah, sex is so much better too. And when we mix sex and sharing blood, it's gonna drive you crazy." There was a promise in Don's voice and he picked up his strokes. "That good for you, Mac? Danny told me he called you 'Big Mac' and now I understand why."

Mac tried to chuckle but he ended up emitting only a low sound of need.

"Relax, Big Mac. I'm gonna make ya come. Just let it happen." Don's voice was quiet and soothing and Mac arched his back, trying to move as best he could in the chains. There was no lubricant but he was leaking constantly and in moments the room smelled of male need and lust. Don was still standing over him and Mac could make out the bulge pressing against the other man's pantfront.

"If you want to bring that closer…" he offered and Flack shook his head.

"No way, no how. You're hungry for blood and there is no way my dick is gonna get in between you and that need. It isn't as big as yours and I don't need an amputation.

Mac laughed, trying to shrug one shoulder even though the restraints wouldn't allow that. His eyes drifted closed and his entire world focused to a talented hand working his tortured flesh. Don pulled and stroked, teasing the underside with little flutters of his fingers. His hands were smoother, less calloused than Danny's but would never be mistaken for feminine ones. And he worked Mac's cock like a master, seeming to know every place where he was most sensitive, every little ridge of flesh that begged for a firmer touch.

"Getting close," Mac whispered and Don leaned in, nuzzling Mac's cheek. They were both stubbled, there was no mistaking any part of Flack for a woman. Mac strained into the touch as he raced closer to his climax.

"Don't hold back, Mac. Let it happen. Come on."

Don's encouraging words sent Mac hurtling over the edge and he came, pulses of fluid arcing over the bed to splatter on his stomach, a kaleidoscope of colors bursting behind his closed eyelids.

A rush of sensations, of knowledge hit him so hard he reeled and his breath stuttered. "Sleep, Mac. Your mind and body need to figure it all out." Don's voice was dim as Mac's awareness faded away.

Almost Present Day

The Day Before

Mac gasped, his body shaking, his blood a wetly spreading puddle below him. This was bad, he knew it. A part of him was ready to go, but the other part of him wanted to fight, even though he knew the odds were stacked against him. He looked up at the young cashier touched his arm, noting the tears in her eyes.

"Don't…cry…" he rasped, not knowing where he got the lung capacity to do that. It was getting harder and harder to draw air. Three slugs, his slowing mind remembered. Through his back, his chest, and out. Not likely survivable.

His eyes closed now. Mac couldn't comfort the girl, much as he wanted to. He supposed it was a good thing she was still alive with an assailant or assailants still out there.

He was getting so damned cold and even though he was trying to keep awake until the end, he knew consciousness was drifting away, and with it, his life. It had been a good enough life, and at least he knew where he was going and who would meet him.

Claire. Had it only been eight years ago since the towers had taken her?

"Mac, it's okay."

He thought he imagined her voice, but then her hand covered his, right over where he was clutching his chest. He could see her hand as well as feeling it, but he couldn't see her. Darkness was all around him, and he realized he felt no more pain.

So this was what it was like to feel dead. Interesting…

"Claire?" he said, and he heard his voice echo. "Why can't I see you?"

"It's the way it is," she said and her voice sounded so lyrical to his ears. "You'll see and understand, Mac. You'll remember this when the time is right and you'll understand. It's okay. It's really okay."

"I can't be alive," he told her in a shocked voice. "How could I survive that? I was shot…wasn't I?" Could he have possibly dreamed or imagined this?

"You were shot," Claire confirmed. "Three times. But something is happening now, Mac. Something miraculous. You're going to live and you're going to prosper. Mac, you need to be open to this and if you can be, you'll find happiness in a place you never expected. It is unconventional but it exists."

"How?" he asked, straining to try to see her.

"Against the rules," she whispered. "You're not dead yet so you can't be with me. You can't see me, Mac. Even this is only possible because you're close to death. But you have to listen to me." She cupped his chin, her voice getting firmer. "You need to listen and understand, Mac. When they tell you what happened, accept it no matter how angry you are. Accept it and them. They're the right ones for you."

"They?" he asked, confused.

"They," she echoed. "You'll understand. I love you so much and you need to understand and know that loving them doesn't mean your relationship with me means anything less. You're not being disloyal to start a new family."

She brushed a tender kiss over his mouth, her warm lips were gone before he'd registered her caress. "I love you, Mac. And I want you to grasp this happiness. You deserve it. Maybe it isn't what you expected but they'll be very good for you. And your new life…you need to learn how to adjust and they're the ones who can help you."

"Claire, I don't understand. And I miss you so damned much…"

"I know." Her hand returned to his hair and he could feel her stroking the short strands soothingly. "When you finally wake up, you'll remember this moment. You won't be able to feel me any more, but we'll both know what happened. This is real, Mac. Ask Danny Messer or Don Flack."

"Why?"

"Because they'll understand. You need to awaken, Mac. A new life waits for you. I'll always be watching and listening. We love you."

"We?" he asked in a raspy tone. He was completely overwhelmed by all of this.

"We," Claire replied. "Your parents, the baby, and me."

He pulled in a breath, a sharp gasp tearing through the air.

"Baby," he replied, feeling a little numb. "Boy or girl?"

"Little girl. She's with us, at peace now. And we need you to seek your peace with your mates and new life. I love you so much." She placed a finger against his lips when he started to answer. "I know. I know how much you love me. I see it in your eyes every day. But that doesn't mean you have to stagnate. This is your opportunity to live again. Live and love, Mac. For once you need to grab this full force and just live without regrets. You've mourned me too long and I'm sick of it."

She took a deep breath and he was astonished to realize that she could breathe in whatever state this was. "You need a life, a life of love, and of really good sex." She giggled then and he realized just how much he'd missed the lyrical sound of her laughter. "This is a crossroads in your life, Mac, and I need you to choose to live. Too many people need and want and love you. Believe in it, believe in us."

She kissed his cheek this time. "This has to end, Mac. You need them and they need you more than any of you know. You have the choice here and I know you'll make the right one. Choose to live and be with the ones who can take you onto the next phase of your life. It will be different but the second time doesn't need to be any less sweet."

"Will I see you again?" he asked her softly.

"In your dreams. I love you so much, Mac, and I know you're more than capable of thriving in your new life. Take a chance."

"Claire, there's still so much to say….I love you…"

"Always and forever, Mac. I love you."


	3. Part III

Part III

Acceptance

Chapter Eight

Present Day

Mac opened his eyes slowly, realizing immediately that much had changed. He was on another bed now, unchained, his mind overfull. He knew how Danny and Don had been made, saw his own creation. He had the answers to much of the questions that he didn't know he needed to ask. How did they survive in light? How did they process food? What were their powers? How had they healed him? How had they gotten him away from the crime scene without causing a major incident?

All of the information he needed the most seemed to be downloaded into his head, along with the memories of his wife and their paranormal meeting. "Claire…I understand. I'm going to do it, choose them. Choose this life. It doesn't mean I love you any less though." He knew he'd already made the decision, but he needed to reaffirm it to her silent presence here.

He stood slowly, testing limbs that should have been cramped and agonized for such a long span spent in chains, stared at wrists that should have been chafed bloody. If he looked carefully, he could see vaguely pinkish marks at the wrists, but unless he was looking for them, they were nearly invisible. And he had absolutely no pain at all.

He moved across the room to a mirror hung on the wall and stared at his body, back and front. His back was unmarked and his chest… His hand ran over the place where a thick ridge of scar tissue had resided for more than half of his life, amazed that new skin was there instead.

He let his eyes drift down his body, smirking slightly. His six-pack hadn't been that defined in a few years. He looked leaner now, and a bit younger. And his eyes had a light in them he hadn't seen in years.

The door opened and he turned, eyeing the two men who walked in. Danny broke into a huge grin first, crossing the room to give him a buddy punch on the arm. "Back with us, Mac?"

"Yeah." He looked from Danny to Flack, smiling slowly. "You guys worked to save me. Thanks."

"Anytime," Danny said, cheeks getting pinker. His eyes slid down Mac's body where he throbbed hot, heavy, and hard. "Wanna get the edge off?"

Mac knew that his lust was high now. Even though he needed to focus and concentrate on the next steps of his new life, he couldn't do that while he was this distracted. But it was a big thing, a threesome with two guys. He'd never even had a threesome with two girls before. Outside of a little experimentation in the very early days of the Corps, he'd had a pretty straightforward sex life. It had been exciting with Claire, but they'd never even considered another partner while they'd been married. And now Mac was going to have a tight bond with two co-workers, two men who knew all his secrets now. It was a lot to consider and was made even more confusing by the hard length of flesh throbbing with each beat of his heart.

Even though he hadn't answered, Mac watched the two freshly shaved and showered men reach for each other's shirts, stroking over muscular flesh, Flack bending to kiss Danny deeply, Danny straining and moaning into the taller man's mouth. Mac ached to be a part of that.

He moved, pressing against Danny's back, hand in his hair. Mac wrapped an arm loosely around Danny's waist, hand seeking out the other man's hardness and stroking him slowly through his jeans. Danny wrenched his mouth away from Flack's, resting his head against Mac's shoulder. "God, so good. Donnie…kiss him."

Mac looked up at Flack, knowing he was smiling slightly. His hand moved quickly, unbuttoning and unzipping and Danny's jeans fell to the ground. Mac released Danny's hair and pulled Flack's head close, eyes drifting closed as the other man's mouth descended on his. Mac traced over the sharp fangs, devouring every bit of passion Flack was willing to share with him. They didn't need to hold back with each other, and soon, Danny was writhing between them, trapped between the two more Alpha vampires.

"Bed," he ordered softly, motioning Don over. "No surveillance in here?"

"None at all," Danny assured. He pushed away and shed his clothes before bounding to the bed. Mac smiled, realizing in this moment just how playful Danny could be. Danny stretched out on the bed, watching with hooded eyes as Don undressed a little more slowly.

Mac stood back and watched, working out the social dynamics. It was just something Mac knew, that he was the Alpha to both of these men, despite how short a time he'd been a vampire. Don was his second, and Danny was the least Alpha of them all. The need to protect and keep Danny safe for almost overwhelming to Mac.

"C'mere, Mac," Danny said in a sexy voice. "Stretch out here and let me and Donnie take the edge off. You gotta be aching something fierce, huh?"

"Yeah."

Mac moved over to the king-sized bed, letting Danny pull him onto it. He stretched out on his back, groaning when Danny squeezed his hard cock. "Great stamina, Big Mac. You're gonna love fucking us. For hours, Mac. Hours."

"And the three of us can do it at the same and dual cocksucking are benefits of a threesome that ya don't have with only one partner," Flack added, a glint in his eyes. Mac smirked and closed his eyes as Danny and Flack slid down his body and began kissing and tonguing his hard cock. The slight prick of teeth on flesh drove him so much higher, but they didn't allow him to thrust anywhere. It drove him crazy but they kept him stimulated and on the edge.

"Boys," Mac rasped, amazed when his own fangs lengthened as his need and desire grew. He shifted restlessly, encouraging them to scrape over his flesh, knowing they wanted a taste of his blood. And he wanted them to taste. He wanted them to share his flavor, his essence. It was intimate, it was passionate.

It would bind them like nothing else.

A fang pricked him lightly, just under the ridge of the head, the pain pushing him relentlessly toward a climax he knew was going to tear the soul right out from him. Their mouths moved, one working his cock head, the other lapping at the underside and he choked off a satisfied sound.

"Close…"

There were a few mumbled words, both men clearly fighting for the honor of his first vampiric climax, then a hot mouth slid down him, taking him right to the balls, while another mouth—Danny's this time—leaned in, kissing him. There was a bead of blood on his lower lip and Mac sucked the flesh in his mouth, tasting himself and Danny. Danny groaned and started running his hands over Mac's chest, tweaking his nipples, Mac reaching down to jack Danny's cock.

That was enough for him. A rush of sound and sensation tore through him and Mac dug his free hand into Don's hair, anchoring him there. He hovered on the edge for one endless moment, shaking and shuddering, wanting to tip over the edge, but needing to stay balanced carefully, knowing the desire would be too much for him to handle.

Then Don sucked slowly, an endless stroke where his head rose and fell relentlessly, his hand working Mac's balls. The blood, the sharing, the need, it all worked on him at the same moment and he groaned into Danny's mouth, letting his climax take over.

Lights flashing, need burning, every pulse of semen exploding. He could feel, taste, scent everything so much more intensely. Mac could only ride the crest of a wave that lasted over two minutes, his groan finally giving out when his breath ran out. He could only lie there bonelessly as aftershocks ripped through his satisfied body.

This was unlike anything he'd ever comprehended.

"Welcome to the rest of your life," Flack said with a broad smile.


	4. Part IV

Part IV

Healing

Chapter Nine

Six Months Later

Mac Taylor walked into the brownstone and tossed his work bag down. It had been a long hard day and he was the only one working. Danny and Don were off today and he had no idea where they were, but the place felt empty without them. The men were now all on different shifts. Much as he disliked it, things were best that way. There had been a few close calls when one man had defended the other on instinct and could have put the rest of the team in danger. They all realized that they needed a little space from each other at work, for the sake of the job.

Plus, the urge to have sex at work was almost overwhelming and after a very close call in the elevator when their need overcame common sense, all three men had decided that they couldn't continue to work the same shifts all the time. There had been a few questions, especially from Stella, but they'd deflected them and she seemed satisfied. For now.

Mac had never imagined the changes that had taken over his life. Gone was his quiet one-bedroom apartment. He'd taken the "blood money" from Claire's death and had bought a smallish brownstone that suited the three men. Even though Mac had vowed not to spend it, he knew Claire would approve. He had never seen or felt her again, but Mac knew she was a constant presence in his life. Every so often, she made sure he was aware that she was watching. He, Danny, and Don had come to expect the radio to turn on at odd moments, her favorite song playing through the house.

Mac stowed his bag and sat on the couch, glancing at the big-screen TV before opting to leaf through a forensic journal on the coffee table. He wasn't even shocked when the radio went on and Savage Garden's "Truly, Madly, Deeply" began playing.

The phone rang and he reached for it, smiling when the music automatically went lower. As he glanced at the Caller ID, he frowned a little. It was Claire's parents, were everything okay?

"Hello?"

"Mac, was hoping we'd catch you at home. It's Grace," she said, as if Mac would forget his mother-in-law's voice.

"Everything's okay," he affirmed, looking at the calebdar and realizing why they'd called. "How are you?"

"Mike has vacation soon and Brad is coming into town next week and Bill is enjoying retirement. I just wanted to check with you and see how you were coping today…." Her voice trailed off.

He and Claire had gotten married fifteen years ago today. This was the first time he hadn't completely buried himself in work. This was the first anniversary he'd felt as if he was healing.

"I'm doing okay," he said after a pause. "I guess I'm starting to heal. Claire will always be a huge part of my life but I'm finally starting to live again."

Grace let out a relived sigh at that. "You're seeing anyone?"

"I am," Mac allowed, hoping Grace wouldn't be upset.

"Good. From the sound of your voice, I think she'd approve. Claire always wanted your happiness, Mac."

"I know," he said, looking up as the door opened and Don and Danny walked in. He arched a brow, patting the couch and shaking his head as Danny moved to turn the music off. Don stood behind Mac, rubbing the tension out of his neck and shoulders while Danny flopped down beside him on the couch, playing with his fingers.

"Do you have any plans tonight?" Grace asked gently.

"Maybe a meal out with some good friends. They never got to know her, but I'd like to tell them about her." Danny cocked his head, glancing over Mac's shoulder and nodding, Don's only reply a gentle squeeze to his neck.

"That sounds wonderful, Mac. I know this isn't the path you wanted to walk. Your true path in life diverged on 9/11, but you need to make the best of this. For yourself and for Claire's memory. We all just want you happy."

Mac took a breath and the music swelled. "I think this divergence is where I was meant to be."


End file.
